Saturday, August 20, 2011

Job.

The title is not a biblical reference, though it is a miracle worthy of such. I have myself a job. After turning down the $3 an hour teaching job, I decided if we were going to survive here, I'd need to step it up a notch or two or a few hundred.
I put on my best (also my worst since I only own one pair) slacks, combed my hair and headed down to one of the local universities at around 12:30 in the afternoon. Josh and offspring were in tow, since my directional disability + my first time out in the big city would have surely been my demise. My stomach in knots, we wound our way around the enormous campus asking every third person where on earth the English Department was. Come to discover, we were on the wrong end. And all offices were closed until 2 pm (two hour lunch break ain't bad).
Two pm couldn't have arrived too soon with two hot & hungry children and open sores on my sweaty feet from heels not worn nearly enough (and not meant for two hour walks around campus). I washed my face in the bathroom, put on my confidence and walked straight into the Applied Linguistics department. The directora, it turns out, was on vacation. I left my CV with the secretary and we were on our way. That was before we went on our Midwestern adventure.
A day after returning, that same secretary who I'd dressed up for called me. An interview? Tomorrow? At 9 am? Bring my birth certificate, passport, transcripts, degrees, and immunization records? Is that all? (Turns out, I have no record of my birth. Though I'm certain I wasn't hatched.)
Long story short: the university is desperate for English teachers. English happens to be my native language. Jackpot. I have a part-time job until December when they'll "reevaluate." Until then, I'm as happy as the mosquito sucking life from my thigh as I type.

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